Normal for Once
by Steelcircle
Summary: Onslaught wishes that Vortex could be normal for once. Slash.


**Normal for Once**

Vortex flicked his new whip meditatively. Cybertronian torture implements had improved drastically since his imprisonment. This little beauty stimulated the pain receptors wherever it hit, making its impact much more painful than its size and composition would suggest. Vortex had just spent a good chuck of time testing out its handling and performance. For the weakly armoured subjects who had their pain sensors closer to the surface and the subjects who had lower pain tolerances, the whip would be a useful tool indeed. For his current subject, who was thickly armoured and rather used to pain, it was wholly disappointing. Vortex had not been able to get so much as a twinge out of him, let alone a scream. No matter how much technology changed, some things never changed.

"Could we not do this normally, just once?" Onslaught asked, sounding slightly bored. He glanced at the bonds holding him to the wall. They were much thinner and more elegant than the clunky old things that Vortex had used in ages past, but they held him just as well, not that Onslaught had actually tested their strength. He was here of his own free will and was content to wait until Vortex chose to release him.

Vortex looked at Onslaught and touched a hand to his faceplate. "Let me think about it. Hmm. No." Vortex had first met Onslaught in an interrogation chamber, and Onslaught had not been there willingly. As a subject, he had given Vortex much trouble. Instead of answering Vortex's questions or at least screaming like a good little subject, Onslaught had instead tried to convince Vortex to free him and join his band of renegades. It worked. With time, Vortex grew close to Onslaught, but that first meeting set the tone for their later relationship. When Vortex wanted Onslaught intimately, he wanted Onslaught tied up and in some amount of pain.

Vortex had been a bit surprised at first when Onslaught agreed to his desires. The tactician was not a masochist and had no love of being restrained; that much was clear. What Vortex figured out over the millennia and had confirmed by their recent combiner-link was that Onslaught put up with Vortex's aberrant preferences because he could. Any pain that Vortex subjected him to was only temporary in the grand scheme of things. While being fettered was an inconvenience, he was no flighty aircraft who would be panicked by such a situation. Onslaught could take in stride whatever Vortex could dish out. What the interrogator could do to him did not worry him, which merely served to show his confidence in his own strength and willpower. Therefore, the interrogator was never able to get a scream out of the target his affections, as his target was never truly afraid. When Vortex thought about Onslaught's compliance in this fashion, it only served to annoy him. Thus, Vortex rarely considered the rationale behind Onslaught's acquiescence and instead took it for what it was on the surface: an invitation to test out his toys and techniques and have a good time doing so.

Vortex put away the whip and flipped the switches to release Onslaught. "You've had enough for now."

"Out of ideas so soon?" The tactician sounded faintly bored, as if he had expected better of Vortex.

"I can't burn out all the wires in your peripheral nervous system every time," Vortex growled, exasperated by his own less-than-stellar performance.

"No, of course not," Onslaught agreed. "Do you require any assistance cleaning up?"

Vortex glanced over at the implements he had used and waved Onslaught away. He hadn't been messy this time. Onslaught, apparently having no pressing duties, occupied himself with examining a set of surgical implements. Normally, Vortex would not allow anyone to touch his tools, particularly not a bulky missile truck, but Onslaught was oddly dexterous, unlikely to break them, and courteous enough to put them back in proper order. Vortex let it slide.

Onslaught wandered over to Vortex and stood slightly behind him. He placed a hand on Vortex's back, neatly nestling it between Vortex's rotor blades. "Perhaps we can after all..."

"Can what?" snapped Vortex, still irritated.

"Do it normally, for once."

"Eh?" Then, Vortex noticed that Onslaught had delicately pried open some of his panelling. "Hey, what's the..." Vortex trailed off as Onslaught neatly severed his connection to his somatic motor systems from the neck down. Finding that his voice box still worked, he snarled, "I _should_ have burned out your entire peripheral nervous system!"

"Do calm yourself," Onslaught suggested, supporting Vortex to keep him from falling.

"Nothing's fair, least of all turnabout. Onslaught, not only can I _not_ take the punishment I give you, I don't _want_ to." Vortex could feel tinges of fear tainting his fields, which he quickly tried to suppress, embarrassed by his own apprehension.

"I have no intention of harming you." Onslaught shifted the way that he was holding Vortex to wrap an arm around the interrogator's waist and used his other hand to stroke Vortex's faceplate.

"Intention!"

"You really are expecting the worst case scenario, are you not?" Onslaught sighed.

"You cut my motor control," Vortex reminded accusingly.

"Only because intimacy that does not involve restraints is beyond you." He picked up Vortex and cradled him in his arms, glancing around the interrogation chamber.

"You're serious about not hurting me?" Vortex asked slowly, still suspicious. He could feel no ill intent from Onslaught, but the tactician was a cagey planner and deft at keeping his intentions secret.

"I am," Onslaught agreed. He laid Vortex on a variable-angle interrogation table, which was adjusted to a shallow angle, and carefully sat down on the edge, to test if it could support both his weight and Vortex's. At times, Onslaught could seem overly considerate, but in truth, he was a perfectionist. Everything had to be just so. He would abide no broken tables on his watch.

"If you really want to do this 'normally,' you won't do it here," Vortex needled, feeling ill at ease on the interrogation table.

"That would require transit to the barracks." No doubt Onslaught had already plotted out the entire thing. Spontaneity wasn't his style, and planning in advance meant that he could account for contingencies such as the one that Vortex just raised.

"They all know."

"I know, but there is no need to be conspicuous about it." He idly traced one of the vents on Vortex's helmet, perhaps unsure of where to begin. Onslaught was rarely active in their encounters, usually unable to move, and so did not quite have a practical grasp on the concept, no matter what he had meticulously planned in theory.

"Prude," Vortex muttered, trying to relax. His radio still worked, so he could call for help, but a fat lot of good that would do. The Combaticon base was far from the other Decepticons, not that Vortex trusted them. As for his fellow Combaticons, Blast Off was in space at the moment, and even if he was around, he was too disdainful of Vortex's deviant tastes to help. Brawl was too dim to understand what was going on and would figure that Onslaught was deservedly punishing Vortex for something he'd done. Swindle would show up, laugh, take a few pictures for future blackmail purposes, and leave. Vortex was well and wholly stuck.

Onslaught had moved from Vortex's helmet in the meantime. He plucked up the interrogator's hand and gently toyed with the fingers. Vortex was more tactile than most aircraft; helicopters tended to be low-flying, and becoming a combiner had only loosened his touch taboos. At any rate, while he was used to Onslaught, he more used to touching him than being touched _by_ him but found having his hand rubbed more pleasant than not.

Onslaught was methodical as always. Vortex could draw a keen comparison between what Onslaught did now and the way that the tactician laid out his battle plans. He considered every factor and detail in due fashion to design a scheme of attack that dealt with every eventuality perfectly. Likewise, Onslaught was thoughtful in his caresses, giving each area proper attention.

He lacked passion, though. The way that he touched Vortex was the same way that he shelled an enemy installation: coldly and calculated for maximum effect. That hurt, a little. They had been together for ages, and while Vortex knew that Onslaught cared for him, he had always been chilly and distant. He took a very personal relationship and made it impersonal. Vortex hurt him back, of course, but never so deeply.

Still, he had to grudgingly admit that Onslaught's touch, though detached, was almost as enjoyable as thoroughly breaking the will of another. He had to wonder what Onslaught was getting out of it, although a few things came to mind. The pleasure radiating from his fields would spill over slightly, and of course, Onslaught gained the satisfaction of turning the tables on the interrogator with a well-executed scheme. As for the latter, Vortex did not take embarrassment well and would have to exact revenge. Onslaught had to know that, which meant that Onslaught just didn't care. He was an infuriating creature in many ways.

"I _am_ going to do my worst once you let me go," panted Vortex, riled that he was so worked up by such an algid touch. Onslaught's blasé attitude in general helped nothing.

"You always do," replied Onslaught, maddeningly calm; he then turned Vortex over.

"Going to put me back in working order?" He could feel Onslaught checking the connections and the prominent lack thereof in one case.

"Oh no. I have not yet begun."

"You're not thinking of-"

Onslaught evidently was, as he touched a hand to one of Vortex's rotor blades. In order to stay aloft, Vortex had to be very accurate in the inclination of his aerofoils. Thus, they were some of his most sensitive parts. He whimpered as Onslaught slid a hand along his blade. Onslaught systematically proceeded to the other aerofoils, ignoring Vortex's increasingly frequent cries, much as he ignored the wails of battlefield casualties.

"I only hurt you. You're _killing_ me," Vortex moaned.

"Hardly," Onslaught replied curtly, finishing the last blade. He wrapped a finger around one of Vortex's pitch control rods, a component of his swash plate assembly.

"Don't!" Swash plate failure was one of the worst things that could happen to a helicopter, often leading to the blades severing the tail boom and crashing into the canopy. There was no chance of assuming autorotation and landing safely. Vortex didn't care how cautious Onslaught was. If anyone meddled with his swash plate assembly, he would have to take the whole thing apart, triple check all the parts, clean them, lubricate the proper pieces, and put the wretched thing back together. Then, Vortex would spend the next few flights worried sick about crashing in grotesque fashion.

"No?" Onslaught reluctantly took his hands away. "Is that not one of your more sensitive areas?"

Vortex basked in the feeling of being untouched by a living being. The absence of tactile stimulation was positively refreshing after what he had endured. Weakly, he growled, "Yeah, you loony, and if you mess it up, I'll crash."

"Regrettable." Onslaught's visor flashed, and Vortex could feel an icy fury creep into the tactician's fields. He must not have planned for this outcome, which perversely pleased Vortex.

"Remind me to jam your missile launch system while you're recharging." Having a stuck missile explode inside oneself wasn't the same, but it would give Onslaught an idea of the importance of not meddling with Vortex's swash plate assembly.

"I had no idea one of my Combaticons was so delicate," Onslaught commented, not without irony. He slid his arms around Vortex and positioned him on his lap.

"I'm spent. Keep going, and you're just going to break something," Vortex protested tiredly. Revenge was going to have to wait until after a nice recharge recalibrated his systems.

"What did you think of it?" Onslaught embraced him loosely and nuzzled the side of his helmet. Onslaught's anger warmed him some, and if Vortex had control of his body, he might have felt inclined to snuggle.

Suppressing that urge, Vortex pouted and answered sulkily, "Humiliating."

"Your fields say that you enjoyed it," Onslaught insisted, never easily defeated.

"Not nearly as much as I'll enjoy taking you apart piece by piece and stuffing the bits down your fuel intake port."

"Before or after you get a recharge?" Onslaught asked innocently.

Vortex glared. "After."

"Would you consider this again?"

"Get a few cubes into me and leave my motor systems and swash plate assembly alone, and I'll think about it." He wasn't serious, but he wanted Onslaught to hurry up and reconnect his wires.

"Liar." He reconnected Vortex, though. "Shall I walk you over to the barracks?"

The interrogator inwardly sighed, relieved to find out that everything still worked. He yanked himself out of Onslaught's embrace and inadvertently sent himself clattering to the floor. Onslaught stood and offered him a hand up. Vortex took it.

* * *

The Combaticon barracks consisted of bunk-style recharge berths. While every so often a Combaticon might try to stake a claim on a particular berth, another Combaticon would take it when he wasn't looking out of spite. So the arrangements were fluid, and any of them might be using any of the berths at any time.

While they did have personal lockers and general storage areas, items tended to get left near and in the berths, and they were fair game for anyone who found them. Vortex spied a throwing spike, a simple, stripped down piece of metal that flew well when tossed. Someone had wedged it point side up into a berth, no doubt to catch someone unwary. It was cruel, and Vortex immediately cheered up at the sight of it.

He yanked it out, to spoil the prankster's fun rather than to save the future victim, and tested its balance. The spike wasn't a bad piece of work. Vortex settled himself in one of the upper bunks, still toying with the spike, and called down to Onslaught, "Join me?"

**The End**


End file.
